Sounds and Silence
by amaretto and coke
Summary: Sometimes the softest sounds are all you need to hear. Takes place after "Turnabout Goodbyes." A Nick/Edgeworth one-shot. Rated T for non-explicit sexual content.


It was a dark night, as nights usually were at 1:39 a.m. You and your small group of dining guests—just two other men besides yourself—are being asked politely, but firmly, to exit the restaurant so that the employees could see about closing up shop.

Even though you'd already been at the restaurant for nearly three hours, you'd sulked a bit when they finally cut you off. The men had indulged your unceasing appetite for burgers, and this place boasted a menu of twenty different items. You'd made your way through all but one, saving the best for last—a lobster burger with white truffle garnish. But between the conversations and the reminiscing and the silly anecdotes and two extra-large pitchers of beer, you'd waited just a bit too late to order it. The server is sympathetic, but quickly points out the caveat that the lobster burger takes 20 minutes to prepare and that the kitchen is already shut down. There's nothing left to do but finish off what remains of the beer and swear to come back later.

The ride home is strangely quiet, especially compared to how loud all of you were in the restaurant. Mr. Edgeworth turned on the heater as you requested, and between the smooth ride, the warmth, and the big victory meal, you've been drifting off for some time. Now the car is stopped outside of Nick's dingy flat in a shabby building on his unimpressive street block, but you can barely tell. You're right on the verge of sleep, and you can't see, you only hear, and not quite clearly at that—Mr. Edgeworth is currently complaining about what an uncouth lout Nick is, that he hadn't even thanked him for paying for dinner.

Nick's laughter pierces the fog in your head, but just barely, and the volume dims again. He seems to be pointing out that he didn't _have _to actually thank Edgeworth for dinner—he had just saved Edgeworth from a guilty verdict and a guaranteed death penalty! It went without saying that Edgeworth should provide him with some compensation for all of his hard work.

_Yes,_ Mr. Edgeworth snaps, _your hard work in stupidly getting tasered, losing all of the critical evidence, and winning the case by complete fluke. I'm sure you worked very hard to make such idiot mistakes._

_How inspiring it is to know that you're grateful to me for keeping you from being wrongfully convicted of murder._

_Again, may I remind you that you did next to nothing except stall for time and come up with ridiculous theorems. You were very fortunate in that von Karma was obliged to work with witnesses that he had not coached. Better lawyers than you with stronger arguments would have killed for such a lucky break._

_Hopefully not literally. After all, there wouldn't have been anyone left to defend them!_

_You're ridiculous, Wright. And you're drunk._

_You're pouting. You're so cute when you do that. You're cute when you're glaring too._

_Get out of my car._

_This is no way to thank the man who saved your life._

_You want thanks? I'll give you **thanks—**_

For several seconds there is a scuffle of sudden movement—specifically, the feel of the car's shock absorbers compensating and re-balancing the vehicle as 160 pounds abruptly changes position within the car's cavity. Your head is tipping to the side and feels too heavy to lift. "Nick?" you murmur, confused.

"I'm here, Maya. Me 'n Edgeworth here are just talking. Go back to sleep."

That sounds like a blissfully wonderful idea, and you do. Momentarily. There is silence, as if they are holding their breaths, waiting for you to drop off again. Eventually there is a soft sound, which you will later recognize as lips pressing into skin and being withdrawn, otherwise known as a kiss. That sound repeats itself until there is a growl that you know well. You've heard it in court from the direction of the prosecutor's bench when Mr. Edgeworth is being embarrassed. _You're wrinkling my cravat, Wright._

_I'm sorry, should I take it off?_

_Of course you should, and really, shouldn't you have thought of that to begin with? You're so bloody inconsiderate and thoughtless. This isn't a cheap Wal-Mart clearance special like your tie. It's Italian silk and it's designed to cover the entire neck …_

_Shut up, Edgeworth, and hold still. How you get this stupid thing off, anyway?_

_Before I was so rudely interrupted, I was explaining that it covers the entire neck with hidden mother-of-pearl buttons—_

_For crying out loud, Edgeworth, this isn't court. Just be quiet already. Maya's gonna wake up—_

You moan around your thick tongue at the sound of your name. "Nick, what time is it? Aren't we home yet?"

"It's about two-fifteen, Maya," Nick calls back, and even in your drunken state you can tell that his voice sounds muffled. Odd. "We'll go inside in just a bit."

Stillness, at least for two more minutes. Then there is the soft sound of an expensive suit jacket scraping against a significantly cheaper one, and the equally soft slippery sounds of a silk necktie being loosed, and the tiny, almost imperceptible 'pops' of buttons being forced through their restraining holes. The quiet sounds of two people breathing. The rasp of rough fingertips on skin. A nearly inarticulate whisper that you hear in your subconscious and won't remember until the next time you see them giving each other smiles when they think no one is looking. _Holy hell, I didn't know you were hiding all __**this**__ under that damn suit. How am I supposed to object in court __**now?**__ I won't even be able to look at you straight._

Mutual chuckles. Your eyes flicker half-open at the slow, gently undulating sway of the car's suspension. But there is no additional sound, and the blurry images you see through sticky eyes make no sense. Why would Nick be sitting in Mr. Edgeworth's lap with his shirt half-unbuttoned? It would never happen in a million years. You must be more drunk that you initially thought.

More sounds now, the quiet _whip_ and _clank_ of a belt coming undone beneath deft fingers, a soft rough noise of cheap synthetic pants making contact with good wool, and a very quiet _Ohhhhh._ Almost breathless. That sound continued, stretched out into a coaxing whimper, then a jumble of words hissed out through clenched teeth. _Oh, you bastard, you're too damn good at that. Don't you dare stop. I'm gonna—I've wanted this since the day we met again—you're driving me crazy—I'm gonna come._

… _me too. Oh yes. Oh yessssss._

And then there is silence for another ten minutes, before the car comes alive with laughter that is too loud and too forced to cover up the sounds of clothes being replaced on sweaty skin, and the car bobbles crazily as the weight inequality re-balances itself. Your head is already warning you that you will pay for tonight's festivities. Probably sooner than you want.

"… hey, Maya? Ready to go in?"

You nod sleepily, your head going all over the place. There is a final cheerful "G'night, Edgeworth!" and a gruff return of "Good _night,_ Wright," before Nick is helping you inside and carefully laying you down in his own bed, and the last thing your muddled brain can process before true sleep rushes in is that Nick smells an _awful_ lot like Mr. Edgeworth now.


End file.
